Tor cupped the cracked teacup like it was the last thing keeping him tied to the world. His eyes were wide and alert. His breathing was deep and controlled, where he was doing all he could to refrain from hyperventilating. He couldn’t believe anything had happened — The explosion, the constabulary's hunt, everything. Needless to say, he was beginning to question his sanity.
He brought the cup to the tip of his beak, and it chattered against the keratin. He tried to take a sip of the lukewarm tea, but he refrained. He sighed with defeat. Pulling the cup back, he took a look at it — It was covered in an outdated pink flower-on-white style, and previously shattered, pasted together by a simple epoxy. It was accompanied by a little, mismatched blue saucer.
Cute, was all he could really think. The first cohesive thought he had in a while. For the past hour, he was awash in raw emotions and incohesive brain fog, trying to comprehend anything he did. His whole gut finally eased, and his dizziness subsided.
He felt his body slowly tense up again; He remembered avoiding the constables, trailing down every back alley he could find — It was just as bad as the survival training he had back in the service. Avoiding traps, alarms and the prying eyes of his instructors.
However, this wasn’t just a test of his abilities, but a test of his resolve. At every turn, he was tempted to show himself back to the authorities, to say he was alright. It was all a mistake, he wanted to say. Nothing wrong here! Just had a slip up at home… terrible shame about everyone there.
Tor nearly slapped himself. Ugh! You bastard!
He sighed, and rubbed his temples. He was reminded of the first time he left for the frontier. After growing up all his life in a big city, being thrown into a small, country town on the mino border. It was much the same way — far from home, far from everything he knew, everything he loved. A pit seemed to open up in his stomach, and all he wanted to do was to allow himself to be thrown into it.
And quite the adventure you’ve thrown yourself into, lad, he thought, grunting a gutteral chuckle. Mother would be… Six above, more than furious. Well, mama, if you can see me from Sarmma, be sure to give me a laugh after you slap me.
Tor tried to drink his tea again, and this time, was able to take a sip. He then pressed his head against the cup with a sigh. His shoulders loosened, and his body followed suite. The chair he sat on creaked lightly as he sat back, it shifting slightly with his weight. As he leaned back, he took in the rest of Rovena’s abode.
It was small. So much so that it could fit within the confines of his former foyer. He could imagine where his old, massive door was, the entrance to the dining room, and the front chambers. Instead of the faded and worn wood flooring, his classic black-and-white checkerboard tile. Where the hovel’s door was, he could see the portraits of his family members, from Alana all the way to him, reminders of his ancient legacy. They were all copies, fortunately — And miniaturized over the years. Twenty five full-sized portraits on a wall would be too crowded.
While he was imagining all of these portraits, an unfamiliar face joined the suite. She was a little more delicate than most, not sporting the Razorwing gold eyes. Certainly one who wouldn’t look out of —
“Mister Razorwing,” she said, knocking Tor from his haze. He blinked, pulling himself back into reality. He remembered he had a teacup in his talons, its contents still swimming idly inside its pearly belly. It flashed luminescent briefly as lightning blinked from a distant cloud.
“Are you alright?” Rovena strolled over across from him, gently easing herself into her loveseat. She replaced her shawl from earlier with a lighter, blue-toned dressing gown. As she sat, a warmer cup of tea sat delicately in her manicured talons, steam lightly wafting. Against the glow of the oil lamp, she looked absolutely picturesque. If her headfeathers didn’t bounce with the shade of scarlet, Tor would’ve taken her as another aristocratic eagless joining him at the cafe.
Tor took another slow sip. “I’m okay.” He looked away, furrowing his brow. “At least, I think I am.”
Rovena sat silent. She knew what happened to him. The moment he walked in, he couldn’t stop himself from telling her everything he knew, what he did, what happened to him. It was as if he had to tell someone. He couldn’t remember the emotions that poured from him. Was he afraid? Angry? Relieved? He didn’t even consider the fact that she, a relatively unknown person in his life, could go to the authorities and turn him in. If the forum captured him? Death. Immediately.
But the law would still be harsh regardless of capture — Arson is not a charge that simply affects one class, after all.
But she didn’t do anything about it. She didn’t tell him to stay and wait while she grabbed the constable. She helped him take his gum blanket off, grabbed his pack and told him to rest. She gave him a chair, gave him some tea, and gave him her time.
He’d give anything just to know what she thought.
“I hope I haven’t upset you, miss Rovena,” Tor said, keeping himself from hanging his head. “I know that having a guest this late is a little —”
“Sir,” she interrupted. Her eyes were wide and glowing, as if taking in all of his pathetic features. She simply traced a talon around the lip of her cup. “I think I can forgive anything like this when the situation is so drastic, don’t you think?” She had a quiet voice, like all the other times she spoke to him. But tonight, there was something different in her candor, a sort of familiar power behind that softness.
But, her body betrayed her feelings. She was tense, and closed up. Her arms were crooked close to her body. Her legs clamped together at the knees. At a moment’s notice, she could immediately leap up and out the foggy window to their sides.
“I suppose,” Tor replied. He wanted to say more to her, but he couldn’t muster anything. Instead, he relaxed himself, hoping to impart the same feeling to her. He didn’t want her to feel frightened. But here he was, invading her home.
“Well,” he managed to push out, looking back to her eyes. “How are you feeling?”
Rovena brushed talon over her ear, pulling the thumb and forefinger across it gently. It was her turn to look away, glancing at her tea. “I’m mixed,” she said simply. She jolted suddenly, and the tea moved about with a plop. “I mean, I’m not mixed for you being here, I mean, well, I am, just… well, I just can’t believe that this is going on.”
She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. “After that explosion, you hurt a lot of people tonight.” Tor leaned back a bit, not sure how to take it. “You hurt a lot more than you thought you would, I think.”
“I don’t think I hurt anyone, Rovena,” Tor responded.
“No, Tor.” She seemed to surprise herself when she said his name aloud, visually recoiling by squeezing her legs together more. “No. You hurt more than you realized, even more than that assassin, or inadvertently, those guards of yours.”
Tor’s ears flipped back onto his skull, and his scowl began to furl. “Rovena, if anything, they were casualties of a greater conflict brewing. My sacrifice was the first step to securing the lives of my comrades in the senate!”
Rovena sighed, but still smiled, with a wizened aura emanating from her. She knew something Tor didn’t seem to know yet. She moved closer to Tor, sitting on a sturdy little stool next to him. “I am not trying to make light of your…” She sat momentarily, mulling the word over. “Your forfeiture. You have forsaken everything you have ever had for, admittedly, a noble thing.” Her smile faded slowly as she spoke. “But before those intentions come the actions, and their consequences.”
Where in Tartarus does she think she’s coming from? Tor asked himself. And to talk of the uprooting of my life so lightly! He was so tempted to stand and walk out of her little home. Tempted to grab his bag and slam that Six damned door!
“You don’t understand,” he defended himself. He did all he could to keep himself from standing, so his tail stood for him. “I have done something that most likely has helped the whole of the Confederacy! Don’t you understand? By satisfying the bloodlust of the forum, we might be able to offer up some resistance against whatever they’re planning!”
Rovena calmly patted the air in front of her with a talon. “Yes, but you have to understand all the lives that you hadn’t considered! You had helped your friends-in-arms, but you must understand that the rest of the world around you feels those ripples.”
“Nonsense. This was an internal affair. If you’re talking about the whole of the city’s constables out in the sky, it's because of such an important incident! I was ‘killed,’ so to speak. Remember?”
“But you’re not —” she took a small, sharp breath “— Your fake death is a notable one, yes. But you need to realize that they did more than check your home — they were here, in the lower wards.” She pointed with an open hand to her door, and it was as if she were a boiler was about to burst. “The constabulary prowl the streets wantonly, and won’t hesitate to challenge the unions — And unfortunately, the unions will graciously engage! I don’t know how many lads and lasses were out there, but I know lives were lost tonight due to your carelessness, Tor!”
“Stop addressing me by my name!” Tor bellowed, standing. “And you address me like a commoner? My actions make everything nothing by — !” He caught himself, stopping his rant as Rovena started to recoil. She pulled the teacup up against her chest, and shook like a leaf.
Tor’s tail fell against the back of the chair, and his gaze fell. His stomach twisted in knots, and a heat began to sting his ears. The girl hid herself behind the teacup, and a gentle tinkling of the cup on the saucer started to take up the silence of the room.
“Rovena, please. I’m —”
“Tor,” she peeped up. “P-please do not walk into my home and berate me!”
Tor’s ears burned like a furnace, and his head hung. “Yes, I know and —”
Rovena’s eyes were glossy, and a red hue hugged their edges. “I will allow your outburst, Tor. I know you’re under a lot of stress. However —” she pointed a stern hand at him, her scowl returning “— you need to realize that you’re not on the highest tier any longer! You’re down here in the muck with me and everyone else!”
Rovena’s shaming took him by surprise — She had the conviction of a union agitator, and he had never heard her with such passion before.
By the Six, he thought. I wouldn’t want to be caught betwixt her anger — There is a fire in her belly begging to be stoked!
He also had another realization: Is there another reason she’s decided to shame me?
It was as if Rovena had read his mind, and her head fell. “I’m sorry. Again, I know what you’re feeling right now. You’re feeling conflicted and scared, and… Well, I know, Tor. I used to be where you were a long time ago.”
Tor cocked his head to the side, furling his brow. “What do you mean?”
Rovena sighed and took a sip of tea. Her whole body seemed to have eased with the sip. She then let her eyes align with Tor’s. “I used to be on the mountain. I am — was — Ursula Quartaeus, third in line to inherit the Quartaeus estate.”
Tor’s eyes widened as he heard her name. He caught himself beginning to leave his seat to bow to her. The name was absolutely ancient compared to every other modern name of the gryphon peoples. Quartaeus was a name that predates the fall of the old republic, and has survived until the modern day. He couldn’t believe her words, so much that as he tried to respond, his beak hung open with no response.
Rovena was somewhat jovial as her smile started to creep back. “I know it’s a little strange to hear, but, here I am.” She gestured to the rest of the small hovel. “It’s not like the old estate, but it’s my home. It’s why I told you I’ve visited the upper tiers before.”
“I can’t believe it,” Tor finally muttered. “Your death was —”
“A lie,” Rovena said bluntly.
He was only peripherally aware of Rovena back then. She was an up and coming debutante of her late mother, Lady Romilia Quartaeus. She made her rounds about the noble houses years before he left for the frontier. Though he had never seen her before, he was sure his parents were attempting to get her into one of their parties at some point. But when he returned, he was sure she was dead.
“Remarkable,” he mused. “Did they just… crash a whole airship for this? Why would they even bother such an elaborate reason?”
“Because they wanted me out of the picture, and it was easier to do that than make my blazing a public spectacle.” Rovena sighed and looked away momentarily. “My parents were involved with it, too — They wanted to save face and not share the shame that I was cast aside by Iolo Highwind for the better pick.”
“Highwind!” Tor exclaimed, slapping an open talon to his forehead. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This was Maia’s husband! “I had no idea he was going to marry someone else!”
“That time has passed, Tor,” Rovena explained. “I was cast aside for Maia. Her family had better connections to the Senate. She wasn’t consul yet, but she was on the rise, and sure to have the vote after Prydwen Whitetail.” She sighed, sporting a small, melancholy grin. “My name is old, weighty and respected, but we’re not consuls anymore. When was the last time you even thought of my sister?”
“Mercia has a stellar record when it comes to discussing the nuances of the laws,” Tor said.
“But she doesn’t have that same charisma, does she? The same clout? That’s how it is with Maia. I would’ve led a good life were I not cast away for her, all things considered.”
“What caused that?”
“His father, first of all. The general.”
Tor nodded, understanding. “He was always a traditionalist.”
Rovena nodded as well. “And for that, he was traditionally minded enough say what was best for his son. Iolo and I were close, but you’ll notice he wasn’t exactly clamoring to get me back up the mountain.” She gestured again to the room, the sounds of water dripping intensifying with the storm outside.
She sighed. “He’s just like his father.”
Tor rubbed under his beak. “I don’t mean to make light of your exile, but, Six! There should’ve been a better way! Someway for you to come back out with your dignity!”
Rovena was quiet, allowing the rain to spill longer. She simply sat there, rubbing her eyes. “I’d rather not talk about it now, Tor.” She looked away and took a long draw from her tea. “What’s important to know is that I was cast away for someone’s political gain. Sometimes, we’re just the means to an end.” She looked back to Tor, her wings creeping out to encompass her frame. She was silent again, and stared down to the floor, lost in thought.
Tor couldn’t even begin to guess what caused her to feel this way, and he felt his body tensing just considering it all. Iolo, his family, Rovena’s relationship with him… Six above, it’s enough to make my head spin! I can’t imagine the pain she has experienced. Then his stomach tightened again, causing his ears to flip back. Here I was, a prissy little whelp.
He rose and placed his cup down, grabbing the blanket that Rovena gave him earlier in the evening. He wrapped it around the eagless, pulling her from her daze. She looked up to Tor.
“I shouldn’t have spoken up to you. I allowed my ignorance to get the best of me, and I’m incredibly sorry.” Tor sat next to her again. “I guess… I’m lost.”
Rovena nodded, taking some time to respond by taking another drink. “We’re both lost, Tor. Before my betrothal, I knew what my life would lead to. I knew I’d have a good, long, comfortable life. Maybe even have a family.” She sighed. “But these days, I’m not sure.”
“I know that I made a choice, whereas you did not have one. But I think that we can support one another.” He stood and walked to his bag across the hovel. After a few moments of digging, he returned with the bag of coins he pulled together back at the estate.
“I offer my last few pieces to help you. I can probably take half of this and find my own home down here.”
“N-no!” Rovena sputtered out. She straightened herself and continued: “No, don’t think of it, Tor.” He noticed that she was becoming more comfortable saying his name, using it with more confidence. “If anything, I should offer my home to you. We can consolidate our resources — I think that if we work together, we can make a good living.”
Tor was about to agree, but he caught himself. A mischievous grin then slid across his mouth. “What about your neighbors? A strange tiercel walking into your home, and living with you?” He was a more progressive sort of gryph, but there were still some who weren’t happy with the prospect of an unwed eagless being with with an unwed tiercel.
Rovena cackled a raspy laugh, catching Tor by surprise, who couldn’t help from laughing himself. “No, there shouldn’t be any problem with that,” she replied after calming down. “This neighborhood has a lot of particular unionites here. They don’t tolerate people enforcing what they’d call ‘antiquated living.’ We’re safe.”
She giggle a little. “It’s not like we’re together, anyway.”
“Of course.” He smiled, but his tail wagged without him wanting to. “But your idea? A sound strategy.”
He walked over to the windowsill and poured the coins out onto the wood. Rovena joined him, her eyes twinkling at the shimmering metals. “I wasn’t able to count everything, but this should last us a little while, I hope.”
He fingered the coins around, slowly counting them. Ninty-five, one hundred, one hundred —
“Six hundred and forty wholes,” Rovena gasped, covering her mouth.
“A quick counter, eh, Rovena?” Tor asked, impressed.
“This is more than my year’s salary!” She twiddled with the coins between her fingers. “Six above…!”
“This?” Tor was shocked, inspecting a few coins. He was dumbfounded. “I had this lying around my home. How could you only live off of six hundred a year?”
“I’m not rich, Tor,” Rovena said. “It takes me a month just to make fifty sovereigns.” She rolled a talon through her scarlet headfeathers. “Six above.”
“Well, what do you normally worry about?” Tor had to think about expenses — This was probably the first time in his entire life he had to consider the idea of bills and sustenance. He was so used to just having that he never considered ever needing something. What do people normally need? Food? Home? Clothing?
“Well, at least twenty sovereigns for rent.” She slipped that number out aside from the pile. “Then I probably spend about fifteen for food —” Another pile “— another ten for clothes and hemming.” It left five.
The feathers on the back of Tor’s neck stood up. Five wholes could barely afford him a bottle of cheap mel’ah. “You’re kidding,” he simply said.
“And this place isn’t even worth bloody twenty. Probably ten, at the most. Landlord likes to charge up but only because he wants a little more in his pocket.” She crossed her arms, either ignoring what Tor said, or not hearing him. “I hear the unionites in this quarter are trying to buy the four story building down the street and do something with it. Whatever it is, it’d be cheaper than living here.”
Tor snatched up the five coins. “This is all you live off of? I knew that the plebs lived lower than the nobles, but this is just so little!”
Rovena gave him a sad smile and a chuckle. “Yeah.”
“You lived up there, Rovena.” Tor pointed up towards the direction of the rest of the city. “You know that our clothes are worth more than what you make in a year.” He tugged at his waistcoat. “This thing is worth, at least, four hundred!”
“That’s the difference between the first tier and the eleventh. We used to have clothing made of silks and linens, and now we have to wear cottons and wools.” She stretched out the gown she wore. “This is probably one of the few satins that I still have.”
Tor flopped down onto the rocking chair, a weight falling on him as he took it all in. “Six!” He exclaimed. “I can’t imagine living like this, Rovena. It’s just so overwhelming.”
“You will adapt,” she replied, placing a gentle talon on Tor’s shoulder. “You said were on the frontier, once? If you can trek the Athenian mountains and live off of kahve grounds, I think you can do this.”
“Yes,” Tor murmured, idly patting her talon. Then, as he was struck by an urge, he shot up, briefly startling the lass. “Yes! I will! If I can do that, I can get through this.”
“Aye,” Rovena simply said. “You’ll find your footing, Tor.”